


A Resting Place for the Heart

by ComplicatedLight



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Community: lewis_challenge, F/M, Family, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5626513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComplicatedLight/pseuds/ComplicatedLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some journeys are geographical; others are emotional . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Keeping in Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Barcardivodka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barcardivodka/gifts).



> This story was a Lewis Challenge Secret Santa fic for Barcardivodka. My aim was to write something that fitted with BV's hopes and wishes for a Christmassy Lewis story; hopefully something that gives the reader (and the characters!) a warm, contented glow!
> 
> Thank you to Lindenharp, my beta, for being so speedy and supportive.
> 
> WARNING: This fic contains SPOILERS for Series 9
> 
> There is a further (spoilery) note at the end of the fic.

**From:** Laura Hobson  
 **Subject:** Hello from sunny New Zealand!   
**Date:** 29 October 2015   
**To:** James Hathaway

Hello James!

I thought I’d send a quick email. We’ve been here 8 days and we’re finally just about over the jetlag. Well, Robbie says he was as right as rain a week ago, but he’s been doing an awful lot of napping and sitting around watching daytime TV for a man who claims he was unaffected by being in the air for 24 hours!

How are you? I’d say ‘not working too hard, I hope’ but it seems unlikely that you’re doing anything but working too hard. How’s your dad doing? Has he had any more mini-strokes—I think you know that it's quite common for people to have several? Have they put any rehab in place for him or do they think that’s not a priority at this stage? I know it must be a worry for you, but just going to see him regularly and making sure he’s comfortable will be helping more than you might think. 

James, I wanted to say again how grateful I am that you gave Robbie a push. If it wasn’t for you, I’m not at all sure he’d have actually come to his senses. I hope you know how much it means to me—to have him here, and to know that you’re the one who made that possible.

Now we're actually functioning like live human beings again, we’ve started to make plans to do a bit of exploring. We’ve wandered round the local area of course, but we want to explore Auckland a bit more widely (it seems lovely, by the way).

It’s very nice seeing my niece, Charlotte, and her husband, Akihito (Aki for short). I haven’t seen her for three years, and I’ve never met him before (he’s clearly a lovely guy). I’ve always had a soft spot for Charlotte. She got a hard time from my sister, Karen, when she was growing up. Karen’s the eldest of us three girls, and is the over-achiever of the family (ridiculously successful corporate lawyer). She could never accept that Charlotte isn’t particularly academic. She just wouldn’t let her be her own person and develop in her own way. It’s not a surprise that Charlotte headed to the opposite side of the world as soon as she could. It’s sad though. Charlotte is lovely and funny and hardworking, and anyone with an ounce of common sense would be thrilled to have her as a daughter. The baby’s due next week, and I’m very happy to be here with them. Doesn’t stop me wanting to beat my sister round the head for being so stupid though. Apparently she’s far too busy with her important life to be with her daughter for the birth of her first grandchild. 

Sorry about going on like that. I don’t think I’d realised how strongly I feel about it all until I started telling you. That was one of the advantages of hand-written letters, wasn’t it? When you have to write it all out instead of just typing it into a computer, you tend to be a little less verbose! 

Anyway, Robbie says he’ll write in a couple of days, when he’s worked out how to use the iPad he bought especially to keep in touch while we’re away. I imagine he'll want to quiz you about your latest cases. Actually, he's been very sweet since we got here; he's been trying very hard not to mention work—but I'm not naïve enough to think he's not missing it at all. You can take the copper out of Oxford . . .

I'm sure he's missing working with you, James. He loved being part of the 'dynamic duo' (yes, Jean told me that's what she used to call the two of you! She also used to call you 'Batman and Robin' by the way, though I'm guessing not to your faces!)

Look after yourself and write back—I really want to hear from you.

Love Laura xx 

 

**From:** Robbie Lewis  
 **Subject:** Hello   
**Date:** 6 November 2015   
**To:** James Hathaway

Hello James,

We’ve been getting out and about a bit over the last few days, now Laura’s over the jetlag. She did struggle for a while, so we mostly stayed in and rested for the first week or so. Auckland seems very nice. The sea’s never far away, and we’ve been on a boat trip round the harbour, and had a couple of barbeques on a local beach. A bit quiet here maybe—not a lot going on, but that’s what you want from a holiday, I suppose, isn’t it? 

The baby still hasn’t come. Charlotte is really suffering, poor lass. The bump’s enormous and she can’t get comfortable, and it’s been bloody warm here the last few days. Aki (her husband) really looks after her, though. Lovely to see, specially as she hasn’t always had it easy with her mum, apparently. Some parents can’t see a ruddy blessing when it’s in front of them—she’s a smashing kid. I’ve said it before—if it were me, I wouldn’t care if my kid was straight or gay, brainy or not, as long as they were happy and treated other folk with a bit of respect. 

So what are you up to? Got a case on at the moment? Anything interesting? You won’t be surprised to hear I'm missing work a bit, so feel free to tell me what you're working on. You never know, I might even be able to come up with an insight or two, despite my advancing years. 

I know you haven’t emailed Laura back, and she’ll have your guts for garters if you don’t get back to her soon—quite right too. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop work at a decent time tonight, get yourself a takeaway and a beer, and go home and drop us a line. Even if you’ve got a case on, let Lizzie do more of the legwork—you know she’s more than capable. No point wearing yourself out. You won’t be any use to anyone if you do that. Go and spend a bit of time with your dad and Nell, too.

Right, that’s enough orders issued for one day. Aki’s come home with a couple of lobsters(!) for dinner and apparently I’m on salad-making duties, so I’d better be off.

Have a bottle of Marston’s for me,

Robbie

P.S. I’ve just heard shrieks from downstairs—I think the bloody lobsters are still alive! I’m going to need a stiff drink if Aki wants me to help him out with them!

 

**From:** James Hathaway  
 **Subject:** Re: Hello from sunny New Zealand!   
**Date:** 6 November 2015   
**To:** Laura Hobson

Dear Laura,

Forgive me for taking a while to reply. As you suspected, I was rather busy with work. Challenging case, but all sorted now except for the paperwork. I wouldn’t, of course, be so unprofessional as to badmouth your erstwhile colleagues to you, but I’ll just say this—you’re missed professionally as well as personally.

I knew himself would come to his senses. I was always sure that he wanted to come with you—he was trepidatious, not reluctant. He just needed someone to help him make the leap, and I was happy to be that person. Besides, if he hadn’t gone with you, he’d have been like a bear with a sore head. Well, even more like a migrainous ursine than usual; so it was very much in my interests to be facilitative. It’s bad enough having to deal with Moody and his endless capacity for instructing me to do things I’ve just done.

Sorry. I shouldn’t be moaning. I know I could have a much worse boss. Just think if Peterson hadn’t have moved on! Moody’s not that bad. It’s just galling that just as I finally think I’ve got a fair idea what I’m meant to be doing in the job, I’ve got a boss who can’t stop checking up on me. All those years Robert trusted me to get on with things when half the time I wasn’t at all sure I knew what I was doing - ironic, isn’t it?

Anyway. I’m glad to hear you’re having a good time in Auckland. You deserve it. And Charlotte and Aki are lucky to have you both there with them. Any sign of the baby, yet?

I manage to see Dad three or four times a week. I read to him quite a lot. I don’t know how much he takes in but I think he finds it soothing, regardless. I thought he might enjoy a bit of Dickens, so we’re working our way through Little Dorrit. I’m enjoying revisiting it, even if dad tends to nod off. 

Nell’s not so easily soothed, unfortunately. Twas ever thus. 

James

P.S. How were the lobsters? Who did the murdering?! Shame you don't have your scalpels with you. I'm assuming you don't, anyway. People take some funny things on holiday.

 

**From:** Robbie Lewis  
 **Subject:** Baby arrived!   
**Date:** 9 November 2015   
**To:** James Hathaway

Hello James,

I know you’ve been busy and you haven’t had a chance to write back to me yet, but I just thought I’d let you know that the baby arrived yesterday afternoon and she’s a beautiful little thing. l’ve attached a photo—took it with the iPad—very clever thing (the iPad, not me!) I’ve put some more photos in a dropbox, if you’re interested. The baby’s called Miyuki Laura May (our Laura’s made up with that!) Apparently Miyuki means beautiful happiness, and also snow, so it’s a perfect name for a winter baby (not that there’s any chance of snow here in December—it’s the middle of summer in New Zealand—but you know what I mean!) The baby weighed 6lb 1oz and her and Charlotte are doing fine. 

And how about you? Are you doing fine? 

Is the Christmas rota out yet? You spending Christmas Day with your dad and Nell? Laura said you’d been seeing them both. Good for you. I know things aren’t easy with Nell, but persevere, James. It’ll be worth it.

You told Laura you'd had a challenging case. What was it? Are you OK?

Well, we're off to the hospital again to see Charlotte and the baby. Hopefully they'll be home tomorrow.

Write soon, James,

Robbie

P.S. by the time I got downstairs, the lobsters had been 'dealt with.' Can't say I'm sorry about that! They were very nice to eat, though.

 

**From:** James Hathaway  
 **Subject:** Re: Baby arrived!  
**Date:** 12 November 2015  
**To:** Robbie Lewis

Dear Robert,

Thank you for the picture. You're right; Miyuki’s lovely. I'm very glad all went well. 

And look at you, all tech-savvy, with your iPad and your Dropbox. You'll start the New Year with a tweet, I'm sure.

Yes, the Christmas rota came out on 1st December as usual. Bloody Moody is making me take a whole week off! Said I'm looking "as rough as s*!t." Charming! He said he wants me "race fit" for the New Year. What am I, a bloody horse?! It's ridiculous. I told him I don't need a week off. He told me he'd have me escorted off the premises if I turn up at work while I'm meant to be on holiday! Outrageous!

So, I'll have some time on my hands over Christmas. For a while I've had it in mind to brush up on my Old Testament Greek—this looks like the perfect opportunity. 

I'll go and see Dad on Christmas morning, and I'm sure Nell will be there too, but I don't think I can manage a whole day of playing happy families. 

What about Christmas for you and Laura? Will you still be at Charlotte and Aki's, or will you have started the grand tour by then?

It's rather dull at work at the moment. Maddox and I are languishing at the bottom of the rota: I, working on the quarterly expenditure figures; she, encountering the thrilling world of digital data storage for detectives, via an online tutorial. Hard to tell which of us is suffering more—we both seem to be doing a fair amount of sighing.

James 

 

**From:** Robbie Lewis  
 **Subject:** Hello!   
**Date:** 17 November 2015  
**To:** Elizabeth Maddox

Hello Lizzie,

How are you keeping? James might have told you, Laura's niece has had the baby—a little girl called Miyuki Laura May. Mother and baby are doing great. She's a smashing baby—hell of a pair of lungs on her, mind, when she's hungry! You wouldn't think a little scrap of a thing like that could make so much noise! Maybe they all do and I've just forgotten. I know me and Laura are both used to call-outs at all times of the day and night, but it's not the same when you haven't got the adrenaline of a case to keep you going. Between you and me, I think it's starting to get to Laura. 

Anyway, that's enough about us. What about you? James mentioned the pair of you had a "challenging" case. I assume that's Hathaway-speak for bloody awful? What happened? Are you both OK?

I hear Moody's giving you and James the week off at Christmas. That'll be great for you and Tony, won't it? Will he be home for the whole week? 

I'm enjoying New Zealand a lot—the weather is warm enough to swim without being too hot. I have to confess though, I am missing the cold weather just a bit—and the thought of a big turkey dinner on Christmas Day! Laura's niece's fella, Aki, is Japanese, and he's been threatening to do sushi for Christmas dinner! He's a funny bloke and I'm pretty sure he's just winding me up, and anyway, he's a fantastic cook so I'm sure it'd be great—but raw fish for Christmas dinner! I expect you and Tony have got a lovely Christmas dinner planned—shame you can't post me some!

I can't imagine what James is going to do with himself with a week off. He mentioned something about spending the week studying but I hope he was joking, though you can't always tell with him. I'm worried he'll spend Christmas Day cooking dinner at the homeless shelter when he should be having a rest and eating a decent meal, himself. Oh well, nothing much I can do about it—the stubborn sod never listened to me even when I was his governor. 

Best wishes,

Robbie

 

**From:** Elizabeth Maddox  
 **Subject:** Re: Hello!   
**Date:** 25 November 2015  
**To:** Robbie Lewis

Hiya Sir!

Nice to hear from you, though maybe you could go on a bit less about the warm weather next time—it’s flippin’ freezing here. Even DI Hathaway has been smoking less because it’s too cold to stand outside. At least it's stopped raining. I thought we'd have to borrow your canoe to get round, at one point last week.

About the Havers case—“challenging" is definitely an understatement. It was proper bad, though DI Hathaway got the worst of it. It was two brothers—what is it with us and brothers this year? They were getting themselves into the wills of lonely old ladies and then bumping them off. Three murders and one attempted. I think DI Hathaway found it really upsetting because of his dad. 

We picked up one of the brothers—Frederick—and charged him, then the other one—Oliver, sent DI Hathaway a 'deepest sympathy' card to his home address with a note saying he was going to execute everyone involved in arresting his brother. He fired an air rifle at us twice while we were in the Jag. 

He was waiting for DI Hathaway at home one night but DI Hathaway noticed that his side gate was open just in time and ducked. There was a scuffle and he managed to disarm the bastard. I still don't even know how he managed it. He hadn't slept for days—none of us had. I don't think he'd eaten, either. I kept buying him sandwiches but I don't think he even opened them. I could barely put one foot in front of the other by the end it, I was so exhausted, but DI Hathaway fought off an armed killer! 

Anyway, it was a really bad couple of weeks but it's over now. Moody won't give us a proper case and he's making us take Christmas off, so we must look as rough as dogs.

Tony won’t be coming back for Christmas. He's volunteered to work right through the holiday. He’s being paid a fortune for it, he says, so that’s great, I suppose. 

Even my friend who lives down the road is going to be away at her mum and dad’s so I’ll be Betty no mates. So, no—no plans for a turkey and Christmas pud for me. I’ve got a date with a couple of bottles of red and the Dr Who Christmas special and then an early night.

I hope your Christmas plans are better than mine.

Say hello to Dr Hobson from me,

Lizzie

 

**From:** Robbie Lewis  
 **Subject:** You almost got shot!  
**Date:** 26 November 2015  
**To:** James Hathaway

For God's sake, James, why didn't you tell us you were shot at? That Havers bastard knew where you lived! Aki's set up Skype on my iPad so we can talk to you properly. I don't like just emailing, with you just telling us the bits you want us to hear. I know its awkward to talk, with the time difference, but I also know you still don't have a case on, and you're a night owl, so we should be able to sort something out in the next few days. 

I warn you now, Laura's got a few choice words to say to you. She actually cried when she heard what had happened—and this is the woman who can cheerfully eat a bacon sandwich after dealing with a decomposed corpse. What I'm saying is that she's not easily upset, but she worries about you. We both do.

Let me know when you're free for a chat, and bloody well look after yourself.

Robbie

P.S. Oh, and don't you dare give Lizzie a hard time for spilling the beans about the Havers case. I had to get the thumbscrews out.

 

**From:** Robbie Lewis  
 **Subject:** Re: Re: Hello!  
**Date:** 28 November 2015  
**To:** Elizabeth Maddox

Hello Lizzie,

I'm really sorry to hear that Tony won't be back for Christmas. That's rough for both of you. I don't blame you for wanting to hide away with some booze, lass—had a few Christmases like that myself. Doesn't do you any good though. I learned that the hard way. If you get the chance to spend the day with someone, take my advice—say yes. You shouldn't be on your own at Christmas. Especially not while you're getting over a case like that. Sounds like you did good work, by the way, bringing in the pair of them between you. You should be proud of yourself.

And don't give yourself a hard time for not managing to get James to eat—I couldn't always manage it, and I was his boss. I'm glad you try, though.

Take care of yourself,

Robbie

 

**From:** James Hathaway  
 **Subject:** Re: You almost got shot!  
**Date:** 3 December 2015  
**To:** Laura Hobson; Robbie Lewis

Dear Laura and Robert,

I'm sorry that you found out about the Havers case the way you did. I didn't have time to tell you about it while it was happening, and once it was over, I couldn't see the point. In the end there were no casualties and there was no point casting a shadow over your holiday. You were both missed, though. Maddox is very good—she's quick thinking, and happy to put in the hours, especially while Tony's away. But she can't make up for your combined years of experience and I do wonder if the case wouldn't have dragged on quite so long if you'd both been here. 

I'm afraid I won't be able to Skype in the near future. The camera on my laptop isn't working. Sorry about that. Probably for the best, though. I'm sure you're both looking tanned and healthy, whereas, well, I'm my usual self.

James

 

**From:** Laura Hobson  
 **Subject:** Re: Re: You almost got shot!  
**Date:** 8 December 2015  
**To:** James Hathaway

Remember when I hit Robbie for putting himself in danger? Remember that he grimaced with pain? Expect nothing less, you absolute idiot. What were you thinking, going home alone when you knew that bastard had your address?! James, if we'd lost you. I can't bear to think about it. Robbie looked ashen when he read Lizzie's email. What would we do without you? For God's sake, start looking after yourself or your life won't be worth living. And yes, I do recognise the irony of threatening to kill you for almost getting yourself killed. If you're wise, you won't make any smart comments back—you'll just do as you're told. 

Right, that's the threatening part of the email over. This is the part where you do what I ask, because despite recent appearances to the contrary, you're a sensible chap. We're worried about Lizzie. She's obviously very upset about Tony being away for so long, and it sounds like he didn't consult her about not coming home for Christmas. I know originally Robbie just thought Tony's trying to earn as much as he can, while he can, but even Robbie can see that Lizzie's scared there's something more going on. You don't make a unilateral decision to be away from your partner at Christmas unless you're stupid, troubled, or up to no good. And we all know Tony isn't stupid.

So, Robbie and I were thinking you should invite Lizzie round for Christmas dinner. I know you're her boss but it doesn't have to be awkward. You've socialised with her at our place, and it was fine. And heaven knows you and Robbie spent enough time together in the evenings, and it didn't make things difficult at work. Quite the contrary, as far as I can see. At least think about it. She works hard for you, just like you did for Robbie—look after her, James. 

OK, onto our news. We're probably going to start travelling soon. It's been absolutely lovely spending time with Charlotte and Aki, but we think we should let them have their first Christmas with Miyuki without having to entertain guests. In any case, the baby waking up and crying every night is really starting to get to Robbie—not that he'd ever admit it! We're not completely decided yet, but I think we're probably going to hire a car and make our way down to the south island. We did consider hiring a camper van, but once the reality of the (lack of) "facilities" sank in, we settled on a nice comfy car and a series of bed and breakfast places. We're both too old for that nonsense—I need a bit of comfort, not a wafer-thin mattress and a twinkle bucket!

Well, that seems like as good a place to end as any! Write soon, and tell us all your news - we miss you.

Love

Laura xx

P.S. Re "lobstergate." I don't know what version of events Robbie gave you, but the truth is that he hid upstairs until he was sure the lobsters had been despatched! And I thought Morse was the squeamish one!

 

**From:** Elizabeth Maddox  
 **Subject:** We've got a case  
**Date:** 15 December 2015  
**To:** Robbie Lewis

Hiya Sir,

Thanks for your email—I guess everything will work out in the end. It's just a bit rubbish at the moment. 

Anyway, the good news is that we've finally been given a case, so we're busy—but safe—no threats, no guns! 

Hope you and Dr Hobson are having the best time in New Zealand,

Lizzie

 

**From:** James Hathaway  
 **Subject:** Mid case  
**Date:** 22 December 2015  
**To:** Laura Hobson; Robbie Lewis

Dear Laura and Robert,

Based on the threatening emails I've been receiving from you both, I've realised that it's probably better for my health if I check in with you regularly. Moody has finally decided we look fit enough to handle another case, though sadly not one that's going to interfere with the enforced holiday. Some workmen found a body in the basement of one of the colleges, but it looks like it's been there since the sixties, so Moody reckons there's no urgency. I suppose I can see his point.

I'm not sure inviting Lizzie over on Christmas Day is a good idea. Not because of the difference in ranks; it’s just that I'm not really brimming with festive spirit. I know she's unhappy but I doubt an afternoon with me, listening to modern jazz and eating salmon (which is what I have planned) will do much to lift her mood. Innocent once put it to me that I'm not a breezy extrovert: she wasn't wrong. I suspect Lizzie could do with a rather breezier day than I can provide.

I imaging you've started your journey south by now. I fully applaud your decision to avoid the camper van. I've spent a few music festivals in one (Dave, the bassist with the band I used to play in, had one). Nothing like being 6' 3'' in a 5' 8'' bed, next to a drunk man, snoring loudly enough to resurrect Lazarus. I think Laura, you might be familiar with some aspects of this scenario . . . 

So, I hope the two of you have a lovely Christmas on the road. I'll email you again during my enforced break—in Old Testament Greek if I pick it up again as easily as I did the first time round (I taught myself the basics the summer before I went up to Cambridge). 

Take care, and try not to get caught up in any shellfish homicides,

James

 

**From:** James Hathaway  
 **Subject:** A surfeit of mince pies  
**Date:** 23 December 2015  
**To:** Elizabeth Maddox

Dear Lizzie,

Sorry to email out of work hours, but it's just occurred to me that you might be able to help me out with something. I did an impulse Christmas food shop at M & S on the way home from work, and having got it all home, I realise I've accidentally bought enough food to feed a family of six: a rather hungry family of six who particularly like roast potatoes and mince pies. 

So, I'm wondering if you might be able to help me out on Christmas Day by coming round for dinner? 

I appreciate you've probably already made plans, so don't worry at all if that's the case. I just thought I'd ask on the off chance you're free. 

It's also occurred to me that you might be free but not feeling particularly festive. If that's the case, it’s not a problem. All I'm suggesting is a meal—no expectations of jollity. I can't say I'm full of the festive spirit myself. 

I'll be visiting my dad in the morning and will probably get back about 12 and will start cooking then. I suspect we won't actually eat till about 3.

Oh, perhaps I should also mention that I've bought half a case of very good New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, in honour of absent friends.

Let me know either way, tomorrow at work,

James

 

**From:** Elizabeth Maddox  
 **Subject:** Re: A surfeit of mince pies  
**Date:** 24 December 2015  
**To:** James Hathaway

Hiya Sir,

I don't have any plans and I wasn't going to bother, but someone told me it wouldn't help to spend all day on my own, and he's probably right. So, yeah, thanks, I'll take you up on your invitation. I can help you cook if you like. I haven't got much of a clue in the kitchen—Tony's the chef in our house. Was the chef? I don't know. God, I really am going to be a miserable cow—are you sure about this? Anyway, I can probably manage peeling spuds and drinking wine, so shall I come round about 12.30?

Lizzie

 

**From:** James Hathaway  
 **Subject:** Re: Re: A surfeit of mince pies  
**Date:** 24 December 2015  
**To:** Elizabeth Maddox

You should be asleep! It's gone 2! But thank you for agreeing to help me out on Christmas Day. I'm not a brilliant cook but I can do the basics—I know how to roast a chicken, which is what we’re having (turkey is very over-rated).

Now, go to bed, and yes, that is an order.

James


	2. Christmas Day

**12.30pm**

James has been back about 20 minutes when the door bell rings—just long enough to prepare the chicken for the oven, and to almost finish his first glass of wine. He'd said a silent "cheers" to Lewis and Laura as he'd taken the first sip. He's started to call Lewis "Robert" to his face and in emails, despite his old boss' instruction that James should call him Robbie. Maybe even because of that instruction, he calls him Robert—James can be a contrary sod, and he does like winding Lewis up. Maybe he quite likes the formality of "Robert" too. Perhaps, without even being aware of it, he's missing the somewhat formalised relationship they had when Lewis was his inspector as well as his friend. Tellingly, though, however hard he's tried to train himself to actually think of Lewis as “Robert” or even “Robbie,” as instructed, (which isn't terribly hard, to be honest), Lewis is always "Lewis" in his thoughts. 

The bell rings a second times and he puts down his glass and goes to let Lizzie in.

"Happy Christmas, Sir." She's smiling, but it's not quite reaching her eyes. She hands him a little package. "It's just some posh chocolates. I didn't know what else to bring."

"Posh chocolates are always the right thing to bring. Happy Christmas, Lizzie. I think you could call me James for today, don't you?"

"Oh, right. Great."

He leads the way to the kitchen. "Too early for wine?"

"Never, Sir . . . James."

He can't help smiling. "I rather like Sir James."

She smirks. "Noted."

He pours them both a generous glass.

"Cheers. Thanks for inviting me. Sorry if I'm not brilliant company. I got an email from Tony last night saying he wouldn't be contactable all day today. Says he's going to be working somewhere where there's no phone signal or internet." She frowns and takes a swig of wine.

"You're not convinced?"

"I don't know what to think. I've always been able to depend on him. I've never doubted him. Never." She sighs. "I don't know what the hell he's playing at."

"He's a good guy, Lizzie. It'll be OK." 

"I hope you're right. Getting upset about it isn't going to help, anyway." She half empties her glass. "Tell me about your morning. How's your dad?"

"I'll tell you while we're prepping the veg. You're still OK to peel some potatoes?"

“Course I am. You keep this wine coming, I'll peel enough to last you into the New Year."

So they get themselves set up with more wine and what they need to prepare the meal: James wrapping rashers of bacon round sausages, and making the stuffing; Lizzie on potato and carrot peeling duty.

"Dad was OK. Well, to start with. The home's decorated for Christmas and he liked that. He seemed to think he was in some sort of hotel. Then he started asking for mum—he forgets she's dead." 

"That sounds hard."

"It really is. Nell and I disagree about what to do. She thinks we shouldn't keep telling him mum's dead, because he gets upset every time. But if you don't tell him, he worries that she's been in an accident or she's been taken ill and he frets so much they have to medicate him." James can feel the familiar tension tightening across his chest. He breathes in and then sighs the breath out to try and release the tightness.

Lizzie's frowning again. "So you're damned if you do, and damned if you don't."

"Yep." He picks up the kitchen timer and starts fiddling with it.

"I'm so sorry, James. My mum and step-dad are both still really healthy, thank God. I can't imagine having to deal with what you've got going on."

He shrugs. "It's not all bad. In some ways things are easier between us now—more straightforward. He's mellowed as he's got older. Maybe I have too?"

"Well-" Amusingly, she can't seem to find anything to say in response to that, and it's not like Lizzie to be lost for words.

He takes pity on her. "You'll find that a key skill for a DS is being able to spot a hypothetical question. Inspector Lewis used to do a lot of thinking out loud. In the first year or so, I regularly launched into explanations of things he already knew or had no interest in knowing. I got the hang of him, in the end."

She's smiling and this time it looks a lot more convincing. "Thanks for the tip, Sir James." He salutes her with his glass and turns back to his work. 

"Dad was a cantankerous sod when we were young. I don't think he was thrilled that his privately educated, Cambridge graduate son ended up a copper. But he's forgotten all that now. I read to him and we go for little walks by the river when he's up to it. It's easier than it ever used to be. I really don't mind seeing him now."

He's surprised he's told her all that. Trust a detective to get him talking. He glances over at her. She's watching him, without saying a word, but she doesn't look convinced. 

"Actually, I mean it. I go after work for an hour, sometimes. I read to him and he listens. It's nice. Peaceful."

She nods "I'm glad. What about your sister?"

There isn't enough wine in New Zealand to make it easy to talk about Nell. "Nell's angry. Has been for years—basically, since mum died. She's angry with mum and dad, but she can't admit it. She's angry about how her life has turned out. She's very angry with me. In some ways, I don't blame her. I know she wants us to be closer, but she's so pissed off a lot of the time. I end up avoiding her and that makes her even more pissed off. Vicious circle."

Lizzie smiles at him and shakes her head. Not the response he'd expected.

"What?!"

"You and me! What are we like? We're the saddest acts in Oxford!"

She's not wrong. He smiles back. "Sad acts we may be, but we have got another five bottles of deliciously crisp Sauvignon Blanc."

She grins. "I'll drink to that!"

 

** 1.15pm **

James has just turned his attention to making some bread sauce when the front door bell rings. He's not drunk, but he has got a pleasant little buzz going on from the half bottle he's put away so far. Him and Lizzie have managed to steer the conversation into less emotional waters, and he has to be honest, this is actually much more enjoyable than a day alone with some challenging jazz. He saunters to the front door, glass in hand, ready to greet whoever it is with rather more cheer than he was feeling an hour ago. It's probably some visitors for the flat upstairs.

It's Nell. She's carrying two large biscuit tins and is looking monumentally put upon. She scowls at his glass. "Jesus, James. It's a bit early, isn't it?"

There's nothing he can say that'll improve things, so he says nothing. He steps aside to let her in and she strides off down the hallway to the kitchen—where she comes to an abrupt halt as she sees Lizzie. She turns to him, looking flustered and hurt. _Shit._

"Oh. I didn't know you'd have company. I wouldn't have come if you'd told me."

"This is Lizzie Maddox, my sergeant. Lizzie, this is my sister, Nell."

Lizzie, to her credit, goes straight into gracious hostess mode, giving James a moment to try and calm down: "Really pleased to meet you, Nell. Would you like a glass of wine? It's lovely stuff. I was just going to open the next bottle."

Nell looks scandalised. "Next bottle?! How many have there been?" She puts the tins down on the counter. "I just thought I'd bring you some mince pies and a Christmas cake. Thought you were going to be on your own. Like me."

"It was a last minute thing, Nell. I thought I was going to be on my own."

"Well, I don't want to be in the way. I'll head off."

 _Jesus._ " _Nell_. You won't be in the way. Stay. There's plenty of food—and wine—as I think we've already established."

She stands awkwardly frozen in the middle of the kitchen, her lack of movement belying the turmoil James has no doubt is going on inside her. One thing, at least, they have in common—this automatic impulse to keep their messier emotions out of sight. 

It's Lizzie who breaks the deadlock.

"Please, Nell. For my sake. If you don't stay, I'm worried we'll spend the afternoon working on a case. You know what he's like." Lizzie turns to James. "No offence, Sir."

So, he's to play the stern, works his sergeant too hard, inspector, is he? He has a flash of affection for Lewis, and his particular take on the inspector/sergeant relationship. A flash of appreciation for all that he's learned from him about how to be a DI, not just how to investigate a crime. James puts on his best long-suffering expression. "None taken, sergeant."

Nell watches them in silence, but eventually she sighs. "Fine." 

Lizzie grins. "Excellent! Now will you have some wine?"

More hesitation from Nell. "Just half a glass. I'm driving."

Lizzie whoops and starts opening cupboards, looking for a glass. 

James drains his own glass. It's going to be a long day.

__________________________________________________

Nell takes a sip of her wine and looks around the kitchen at what they were working on before she arrived. "What's for dinner?"

"Roast chicken and all the trimmings. Christmas pudding, mince pies, Christmas cake."

"I see. What time were you thinking of eating?"

James knows there's a criticism coming, but he's had too much wine to be able to work out what it is. "Well, it's almost two now and the potatoes are going to take about three quarters of an hour to roast, so I'd say just before three."

Nell shakes her head, for a moment looking shockingly like their mum when she was exasperated with one of them. "And what about that chicken?" She points to the roasting tin, still sitting on the counter, with the chicken in it. "How long do you reckon that's going to take?"

 _Shit._ He'd got it ready then hadn't actually put the bloody thing in the oven. Too much wine and chatting; not enough focus.

Lizzie, who like him has been drinking steadily for the last couple of hours, sniggers. "Whoops."

But Nell, of course, doesn't see the funny side. She sighs and rolls up her sleeves. "God, James. I really do have to do everything, don't I?!"

She goes to grab the roasting tin with the chicken in it, but Lizzie beats her to it. They end up each holding opposite sides of the tin and for a moment James thinks the bloody chicken is going to end up on the floor, but after a moment's tussle, Lizzie relinquishes her grip. She's a brave woman, but she's no match for Nell in full martyr mode.

The next couple of hours are not easy. Him and Nell don't actually get into a full-on argument—they're too well brought up to really get into it in front of Lizzie. But you could cut the atmosphere with a knife, as Lewis would have said. 

_God. Lewis_. What wouldn't James give to have him and Laura here right now? Between the two of them, they'd have found a way to ease things. Laura would have calmly taken charge of the dinner so that neither he nor Nell could, and Lewis would have told funny stories and just been his most soothing, comfortable self. Like he'd been with dad that time they'd gone fishing. That's the problem with having people you think of as friends—you get attached to them, you come to rely on them being around—and then they go away. He knows that's not fair—they're entitled to a holiday. And they've made a lot of effort to stay in touch over the last couple of months. He's just feeling sorry for himself.

 

** 3.30pm **

They finally serve the dinner just gone half three. The food's delicious but there's too much tension round the table for any of them to have much of an appetite. Their toast, to absent friends and family, hadn't done much to lift the mood, either. Lizzie tries valiantly to keep up her end of the conversation, but it doesn't take long for them to lapse into silence. So it makes them all jump when the doorbell rings.

"I'll go." Lizzie's out of her chair so fast James has to grab it to stop it tipping over backwards. She’s obviously desperate to get away from the table, if only for a minute. He knows just how she feels.

He hears the door opening and suddenly Lizzie is shouting. He can't make out the words but she sounds distressed. Angry and distressed. He's on his feet and in the hallway before he's even aware of deciding to move.

The front door's open and Tony is standing on the step, his palms up in a gesture of supplication. Lizzie is raging at him.

"I thought you didn't love me any more! I thought you were spending Christmas with some other woman!"

"No! Never! Lizzie, no! It was only ever about earning some decent money!" Tony looks absolutely distraught.

"You stupid bastard! I don't care about the money! When have I ever cared about the money?! I thought you didn't want to spend Christmas with me! Why the hell didn't you tell me you were coming back?" Her voice quietens. "I thought we were over."

James can't see Lizzie's face but he can hear that she's started to cry. He takes a step backwards, wanting to give them some privacy, and bumps right into Nell. She whispers in his ear: "What's going on? Is Lizzie OK?"

"She will be, I hope. That's her partner, Tony. He's been working abroad for the last few months and things have been difficult for them."

"Oh. Hence you inviting her for Christmas dinner."

"Hence me inviting her for Christmas dinner."

There's a pause. "Well—that was kind of you."

"Thank you."

It feels like Nell has something more to say, but whatever it is, it doesn't materialise and the silence between them starts to feel awkward, so James pats her on the shoulder. "Come on. Let's give them some space."

They could go back to the table in the living room and finish their dinner, but really, he could do with a cigarette. Nell's not going to approve, of course, but sod it: she rarely approves of anything he does. 

He grabs the bottle of wine off the table, the blanket off the back of the sofa, and his cigarettes and lighter, and leads them to the kitchen. He opens the back door, sits down on the back step and lights up. With some pointed sighing but no actual comment, Nell sits next to him. He drapes the blanket over their knees and they sit quietly for a while. There's a bit of late afternoon, watery sunshine, and James closes his eyes, feeling the faint warmth on his face. He can still hear the rise and fall of Lizzie and Tony's voices, though he can't actually make out what they're saying. The gist of it is clear, though: Lizzie's obviously been very scared by the whole Canada episode, and she's giving Tony hell for it.

His attention drifts back to him and Nell as she tucks the blanket round them more closely. He can't remember the last time the two of them just sat without talking; without sniping at each other. It's nice. Maybe this is what he'd had in mind when he'd joked about the two of them going on a silent retreat? 

He picks up the wine bottle. It'd be nice to have a drink, sitting here in the winter sunshine, tucked up in a blanket with Nell. But he'd forgotten to grab some glasses and he doesn't want to move and disturb the moment. They might not be this peaceful again for years, going on their past record. He fiddles with the label on the bottle, peeling off the edges, until just the words "Marlborough, New Zealand" are left. His mind drifts to Lewis and Laura, conjuring up an image of them, hand in hand in the sun, strolling round some Marlborough vineyard. He's genuinely pleased that they're happy and relaxing on holiday, but he's missing them, fiercely. Wishes they weren't quite so far away. It's silly, really, because in reality it makes no difference if they're in New Zealand or Norfolk; he could hardly just invite himself along on their holiday for the occasional weekend, even if they were just a couple of hours away.

He's pulled out of his musings by Nell nudging him. "Give me that bottle." 

He thinks she's going to put it out of his reach, so he can’t keep picking at the label. It doesn't occur to him she'll unscrew the top and take a long swig.

"Nell!"

"What? You think you're the only one who needs a drink?"

"I suppose not. It's just a bit of a surprise. You're usually so well behaved."

She looks at him, grimly. "I am _so fucking tired_ of being well behaved."

He doesn't think he's ever heard her say the f word. _Ever_.

"I thought you liked being the well-behaved one." 

She looks at him like he's an idiot. 

"OK, maybe not liked, but got something from it, at least. You know; being in charge of everything. The grown-up one. The responsible one."

She’s still looking incredulous. "Really, James? You actually think that?" She shakes her head. "You know, you can be good at something and really hate it." 

"I know that." He really does.

They sit quietly for a while. He's unsure whether to risk the next question, but if not now, when? He takes the wine bottle off her and has a swig. "So why? Why do you do it, if you hate it?"

He thinks she might fly off the handle at him, but her shoulders sag and when she speaks again, she sounds defeated, more than angry. "Because I've been like this so long, I don't think I know how to live life any other way."

James passes the bottle back to her and she takes a long drink. "When mum died, someone had to take charge of the house and look after dad—he was useless; he'd have never eaten, never have had clean clothes. And you weren't around, most of the time." She has another swig. "And dad appreciated me keeping the house running, and God knows he'd never appreciated much about me before. All that guff about a university education being wasted on girls. Would have been nice to have had a chance to find out." 

At some level, he's known this all along, has felt guilty about it all along, even though it's never been spoken about. Trust the Hathaways to never talk about the important stuff.

Nell hasn't finished yet. "You were so clever, and dad was so proud when you got to Cambridge." 

It's news to James. "Well, if that's true, he forgot to mention it to me."

It's Nell's turn to look confused. "You're kidding."

"Nope."

"But you must have known, surely? It was so obvious to me."

He shrugs. "Wasn't obvious to me, at all. Sometimes we need to be told things, don't we? The only thing that was clear to me was that there'd be a lot of cutting remarks whenever I didn't do brilliantly at something academic. It was quite the motivator."

She's looking at him so sadly now. "God, James. Are you saying you hated studying? That you only did it all those years to stop dad having a go?"

"No, I'm not saying that. I liked learning things. I still do. I like making sense of new information; solving puzzles. It's a big part of what works for me about my job. It just would have been nice to have been able to do it without the constant anxiety that I'd disappoint dad if I wasn't consistently brilliant. Half of why I put off doing my inspector's exam for so long is that I couldn't face stirring up all the old feelings about enforced studying." 

She nods. "And the other half of why you put it off?"

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"I just couldn't be arsed."

She snorts. 

"What?!"

"No. I just really know how that feels. Not wanting to be arsed. Never actually said it to anyone, though."

"Maybe you should start."

"Maybe I should." She knocks back the last of the wine. "And maybe you should stop worrying about whether you're going to disappoint people. The truth is, you _are_ going to at times. No one's perfect—not even you, no matter how hard you try. Everyone's a disappointment to someone at some point."

He gives her a rueful little smile. "Yeah, I think crashing out of the seminary and ending up a copper taught me everything I need to know about disappointing people."

She squeezes his arm. "No it didn't, sweetie. You didn't learn that it's OK to disappoint people. That it doesn't make you unlovable or a waste of space, or any other nonsense like that." She keeps gently rubbing his arm. "I hope you know that now?"

Does he? He knows it in theory. It's a different thing actually feeling it, though; trusting that it applies to him, not just to everyone else. "I know it sometimes, with some people." 

She leans over and kisses his cheek. "Well, that's a start." She rests her head on his shoulder and he puts his arm round her.

"Nell?"

"Mm?"

"You must have hated me, having to watch me go off to university, while you were stuck at home, doing a job you didn't like and keeping house for dad."

She's quiet for a moment. "No, I never hated you. I did feel resentful, but I always wanted you to be happy. I hoped you were having a good time, though I think I always knew that you weren't very happy a lot of the time; but I was too miserable myself to know what to do about it." She’s quiet again for a while. "Anyway, I was such a bitch to you. You must have thought I was awful."

"I knew you were unhappy too, and I sort of couldn't understand it, because dad was so much nicer to you. I think I just didn't want to see how stuck and miserable you were at home, because I didn't know how to make things better. It was easier to avoid you than keep seeing you so unhappy. I'm sorry."

He feels her chuckle. "What?"

"You and me. What a pair of losers!"

"You know, that's the second time someone's said something like that to me today. I seem to be half of several pathetic pairs."

She's giggling now. "Well, better than being pathetic on your own, surely?"

"Definitely."

 

** 4.30pm **

It goes dark and suddenly very chilly, so they come back inside and close the door. It's so quiet in the flat that James thinks Lizzie and Tony must have gone home. But then there's a moan. His brain can't quite make sense of it, but then there's another one. A soft moan. Preceded by a grunt. Sweet Jesus, somewhere in the flat, his sergeant is having make-up sex. 

There's another moan. James can feel his cheeks burning. 

Nell coughs to clear her throat. "Well, Lizzie seems happier." And with that, they both collapse in fits of giggles, like a couple of school kids. 

"I can't listen to this. I've got to work with her, for God's sake! If we go into the lounge, we can put some music on. Drown them out."

"What happens if they're _in_ the lounge, though, James; having it off on your lovely sofa?!" She's positively gleeful about the possibility.

"No! They wouldn't!" He's very attached to that sofa, having finally treated himself to one that he can fully stretch out on after years of making do with a cast-off from his dad, which was far too small and uncomfortable.

"Well, where the hell do you think they're doing it? Up against the wall in the hallway?!"

He's just contemplating the horrors of that possibility, when the doorbell rings—a long, loud burst of sound. Nell's eyes widened, comically, and she starts giggling again. "Looks like you're about to find out." 

In fact, the hall is empty. He checks the lounge too as he goes past—no shagging sergeant there, either, thank God. Which places the happy couple either in the bathroom or his bedroom. But for now, all has gone quiet, so he can't be sure. He has a sudden strange thought that it could be Moody at the door. Not that there's any reason at all why it should be, except that it would be just his luck, having to explain to Moody why Maddox was in his bed (or bath?!) having a shag.

With a kind of perverse relish of the ridiculousness of the situation, he swings the front door wide open . . . and is greeted by the best of all possible sights: Robert Lewis and Laura Hobson.

It's been a bit of a day—a lot of wine and a lot of emotion; if he's not careful he's going to start crying like a baby in front of them, and no, that is not an option he's willing to allow. He frowns, to get him face under control. "Robert! Laura! What are you doing here?!"

Laura beams up at him. "What on earth do you think we're doing here, you clot? We popped back to see you!"

Oh, God. If they think he can't even cope with a couple of months without them, that is not flattering. "You needn't have. I mean, its lovely to see you both, of course, but I'm fine. I've had a good day, actually."

Lewis looks amused. "Very pleased to hear it. Not all about you though, is it? We just couldn't face the thought of sushi for Christmas dinner."

Laura smacks Lewis on the arm. "Don't believe a word of it, James. We've both missed you. We just wanted to see you at Christmas. Now, can we come in or are you going to interrogate us on the step all night?"

"God, yes, of course. Sorry." He steps back to let them in, and finds himself embraced by both of them at once. _Jesus_ , it's good to have them back.

Finally, they release him and he takes their coats off them. Just as he's leading the way to the lounge, there's a loud wail and a giggle from the bathroom. 

Lewis frowns at him. "What the hell was that?!"

But Laura's smirking at him, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Yes, James, what _was_ that?"

At what age is he going to stop blushing? He's pushing forty and he can feel his cheeks burning with the heat of a thousand suns. He sticks his hands in his pockets, trying to look blasé. "Oh, that's just Maddox having sex in the bathroom. Hope you don't need a pee anytime soon; they've been at it for hours."

Lewis turns a gratifying shade of crimson, but recovers himself quickly. "I assume you mean she's in there with Tony?"

"Yes, of course with Tony! Who else would she be in there with?!"

Lewis chuckles. "All right; just making sure. Well, we'd better leave them to it then, hadn't we?" And with that, he saunters off towards the lounge: "This way, is it?"

Laura puts her arm through James' and they follow Lewis along the hall and into the lounge.

As he introduces Lewis and Laura to Nell, he realises, with some astonishment, that he doesn't need his friends to rescue him from the situation; that in fact him and Nell have somehow managed to rescue themselves; each other.

Nell offers to make some tea, but he's not having that. He flashes her an exaggerated puzzled look. "I thought you couldn't be arsed?"

It takes her a second to catch on. "Oh! I forgot! Old habits. Yes, absolutely—I really can't be arsed! I think I might need to get that tattooed on my arm or something, so I have a regular reminder." And with that, she flops down on the sofa. So James goes through to the kitchen to put the kettle on, and Lewis follows him out. James gets Lewis cutting up the Christmas cake and arranging mince pies on a plate, while he sorts out the mugs for the tea. 

Lewis pauses in his work. "Nell seems very nice. Not quite what I was expecting."

James gives him a lopsided smile. "Me neither."

Lewis nods and smiles back. "Good. You've done good, James."

When the tea's ready, they carry everything through on two large trays. Laura and Nell are nattering away like they've known each other for years. In the five minutes he and Lewis have been out of the room, they've apparently discovered a shared admiration for the novels of Donna Tartt and Margaret Atwood, and Laura has invited Nell to join her book group. They're deep in a conversation about the audio book version of The Goldfinch, and they look as happy as clams. It makes James smile just watching them.

He plonks himself down on the sofa next to Nell, and Lewis scoots Laura along a bit so he can sit on the other side of James. The two of them sit quietly for a while, drinking tea and listening to Nell and Laura's conversation. There's still no sign of Lizzie and Tony. Of course, they haven't seen each other for months, and they've got a lot of reconnecting to do, but, bloody hell, they've been at it a long time. James turns to Lewis. "Just out of curiosity; I was wondering how Tony knew where to look for Lizzie. I got the impression she hadn't told him she was having her dinner here. Know anything about that, Robert?"

Lewis shrugs, modestly. "Well, Jim, or do you prefer Jamie?" The horror James feels at even the mention of "Jamie" as a possibility, must be written all over his face, because Lewis actually snorts. "I might have texted Tony a couple of nights ago. Had his mobile number from when Lizzie was in hospital, that time. I just wanted him to understand how upset Lizzie was. I think he was so focussed on his job, he was completely oblivious to anything else. And yes, before you say anything, I know: takes one to know one."

James grins at him. "Never occurred to me."

"Yeah; a likely story. Anyway, I didn't know for sure she'd be here, 'cos you'd said in your email you didn't think it was a great plan, having her round for dinner. But I just had an idea you'd change your mind, so when he said he was going to try and get back for Christmas Day, I gave him the heads up, just in case."

"You old softie."

Lewis can't really deny it. "I know, but don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation as a grumpy old sod to maintain."

And then right on cue, James' sergeant and her very pleased with himself looking partner appear in the lounge doorway, holding hands. They're greeted with much cheering, and a series of piercing wolf-whistles from Nell, who's turning out to be full of surprises.

Everyone moves along a bit on the sofa to make room for the new arrivals, who are then plied with tea and cake and mince pies, with a great deal of teasing about the need for sustenance after a long period of hard work. For a pathologist, Laura seems to know an awful lot about the number of calories burned during various sexual activities, and Lewis' face is a picture.

Eventually, they all quieten down and James gets up and puts some music on. He can just imagine the collective groans that would be elicited by the modern jazz playlist he'd put together to help him get through the day on his own, so he finds some carols on the radio, instead. It feels a bit awkward to clamber over everyone to get back to his place in the middle of the sofa, and he dithers, until Nell pats the empty bit of sofa between her and Lewis, and Laura smiles up at him and says "sit down, James; you're making the place look untidy." Lewis shoots him a look that says, "I'd do as I’m told, if I were you." 

So he does. He squashes back in between Nell and Lewis, feeling the warmth of them on either side of him. He chats for a while with Lewis about their journey from New Zealand and their plans to visit Lyn, but within a few minutes, Lewis goes quiet: he's dozed off; he's finally let himself succumb to jet lag, now all is well in his world.

James looks around him. On one side, he's got Lewis, who is now deeply asleep. He looks younger in his sleep, and healthier than James has seen him looking in years. Laura's tucked close into his side, also with her eyes closed. She looks utterly content, like she's finally, exactly where she wants to be. James had assumed that when Lewis had retired, and definitely when he and Laura had headed off to New Zealand, that he would fade from their thoughts. That friendships developed at work would not survive such significant changes and separations. He was, of course, a complete idiot. Even he can now see that in the ways that really matter, they're going nowhere. Somehow, despite his epic awkwardness and an avoidant streak a mile wide, he seems to have managed to acquire two of the best friends a person could have. Of course, they're both bossy and sarky and they apparently feel completely at liberty to interfere in his life, anyway they see fit. He smiles to himself: he wouldn't have them any other way.

To the other side of him, he's got Nell, who's quietly talking to Lizzie and Tony. She's turned towards them but she's leaning back against him. She feels warm and relaxed and he has a sense of her being completely "off duty" for the first time in years. It feels so good that finally she can let herself lean on someone; and astonishing that he wants to be someone she could lean on. Maybe what's even more astonishing is that he can actually imagine leaning on her, too. It actually seems possible that he could phone her and say, "work's crap; do you fancy a drink?" 

He knows they're not out of the woods, yet. Things will only get more difficult with their dad as he deteriorates, and him and Nell do seem to have rather different ideas about how to manage all of that. But for the first time, maybe ever, they feel something like a team. Like a family.

He closes his eyes, and lets the carol that’s playing in the background, sweep into him: 

_How brightly shines the morning star!  
With grace and truth from heaven afar._

He’s loved this telling of the story of the three kings, ever since he first heard it in King’s College Chapel, that first year at Cambridge.

_The star shines out with a steadfast ray;_  
The kings to Bethlehem make their way,  
And there in worship they bend the knee,  
As Mary’s child in her lap they see; 

This story, at one level, a simple telling of a journey to mark the birth of a child.  
This story of a long and difficult journey; a journey made out of hope and longing.  
An allegory of life’s journey.

He has always been moved by its insistence that the listener should not be content with being a passive observer, but instead, should join the travellers: 

_The Kings are travelling, travel with them!_

He finds it extraordinarily moving to think that over centuries, this carol has encouraged and cajoled the doubting and discouraged and lost; has supported them—the Jameses and the Nells; the Robbies and the Lauras; the Lizzies and the Tonys—to risk the journey; to keep going towards longed-for love and grace. And perhaps most importantly of all, to seek companionship for the journey:

_The Kings are travelling, travel with them!_  
The star of mercy, the star of grace,  
Shall lead thy heart to its resting place. 

**Author's Note:**

> The carol that James is listening to at the end of the story is the very beautiful "Three kings from Persian lands afar," (not to be confused with "We three kings."): [On youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2dNKv48WJQ)


End file.
